


the monsters turned out to be just trees

by spacelabrathor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Forest God Thor is a forest creature in this fic, Voyeurism, entirely fabricated paganism references, not a man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacelabrathor/pseuds/spacelabrathor
Summary: A prompt from a lovely anon:"Forest!god!thor must take a maiden's virginity to bring the spring and reader is the annual offering."





	the monsters turned out to be just trees

 

The sun has just slipped below the barren, tree-lined horizon on a crisp evening in the early year when the elders decide the time has come. **  
**

They surround her in the council room, a small, intimate, cottage of barked timber and thatched roof, dressed in heavy robes lined with pelts to stave away the lingering chill of winter. The fire roaring in the hearth is the only source of light in the room, and the only source of warmth.

She is dressed in a robe, red as blood and pooling on the floor around her ankles. Her hair is pulled back and braided in an intricate weave and adorned with dried blooms, painstakingly preserved through the harsh winter for this precise moment.

She’s shivering underneath the elders hands as they lay palms on her and bow their heads, their lips moving in silent prayer.

She had been selected for this moment the prior spring, the morning after another girl in the village fulfilled the role she is about to play. Given the hazy summer and fertile harvest season to prepare for the eventuality of what would occur tonight. Given the long, dark winter to think upon it every night as she bed down. Feeling at her untouched body under her sleep clothes with timid fingers. Wondering how she would ever be enough to satiate him and to provide her people with a respite from the frigid winter.

 _Thörr._  The lumbering spirit that guards the dense forest surrounding the village. Who slumbers through the long winter and rouses only at the first daybreak of new year. Whose pleasure will thaw the frozen earth and bring about spring, breathing life into the world in greens and blooms and the smell of fresh earth.

She has never seen him. No one has, save the elders, and the maidens selected as an offering to his spirit every year. No one speaks of the ceremony that is about to unfold, with every villager retired to their lodges for the evening - their fires already exhausted for the night. Leaving the execution of the ceremony to the elders who have performed the ritual for a century. Windows boarded up tightly so they might not see the awesome, ancient power that is to be in their midst in an hours time.

One elder gives her a goblet, old and time-worn, and prompts her to drink, lifting it to her lips and pressing it there when she recoils at the bitter taste.  _It will help_ , it’s explained in hushed tones, and the acrid taste fades as the tonic settles in her belly and starts to trickle through her veins like a flame. Her vision starts to swim and she blinks, her lips falling open on a soft exhale at the flare of heat low in her belly. A sensation unknown to her, that makes her head tip back and a weak, bewildered sigh to fall from her lips.

The elders continue to pray, their hands laid on her holding her up as much as anything now, as her cheeks start to flush and slick starts to gather between her thighs.

It could be a minute or one hundred years before the fire in the heath swells on a sudden gust, exploding up into the hearth on a crackling roar before simmering back down. Expelling a wave of sudden heat into the small room and making each of the elders raise their heads in turn, before looking back to her from behind dark hoods.

One nods, and then she’s turned in place and gently pushed towards the door. The time has come.

Once at the heavy, timbered door, she is halted with a gentle hand on her shoulder. The robe is pulled from her shoulders and left to pool on the floor around her feet.

The door is pulled open, a rush of cool air washes over her, and she trembles as she’s nudged out, into the dimming twilight.

She’s led by the elders, surrounded by them as she walks on shaky legs, her bare feet leaving light impressions in the muddy moss underfoot.

The tonic is coursing through her now, fogging up the corners of her mind. Making the pulse in her very center, an aching, searing emptiness that she cannot comprehend, the only sensation she can catalogue, even as chilled wind tugs along her bared body and makes her teeth chatter together. Needing something that she does not know. Something rooted deep in her core that has never been touched.

A vast stone altar is in the village center, lit on all sides by torches and covered in a heavy, dark pelt. She is helped up on to it with the strong, cold hands of elders under her elbows, re-arranged so she is on her back and staring up at the stars that are just beginning to emerge in the night sky.

Her body is wracking in shivers, full-body tremors as the frozen stone beneath the pelt begins to draw upon the warmth of her skin. The elders surround her once more, each laying a hand on her bare skin, keeping her in place as her muscles bunch and lurch with the cold and the pull and sway of the tonic in her blood.

Her head swirls on another wave of delirium, the crisp air catching on where she’s soaked between her legs, overcome with a fever brought by the tonic. Her shaky hand reaches for where she is ember-hot and slick, needing to touch, to do something, but the gentle hand of an elder takes her wrist and places it back at her side.  

The torches surrounding the altar whistle on a sudden gust and quell of cool wind, and the quiet murmur of the elder’s continual prayer abruptly ceases. All turn to look to the far end of the village, to the edge of the treeline, and when she summons the strength to raise her head, she sees a hulking figure there, just outside of the light.

It looks to be a stag, in the distant shadows. Taller than a horse and moving slowly towards them.

Her core pulses and aches on nothing and she blinks slowly to see as the figure slowly approaches the light.

Her fogged mind struggles to understand what she sees, seeing the shadow of the approaching shape shift and lurch in ways that cannot make sense.  

When the figure finally steps into the torchlight, the figure is human. Or, close to it.

He is immense. Larger than any man she’s ever seen, standing on two legs and towering. He steps slowly into the light, his gait lumbering and shoulders broad and bowed, and the clear sight of him sends a shock up her spine. Clearing back the haze in a rush, a sudden clarity consuming her as her heart begins to thunder in her chest. A prickle of danger licking along her veins, a heightened sense of everything that brings her view of him into sharp focus.

His hair is long and hanging around his face, golden when it reflects the light. A dark scratch of a beard covers his jaw and throat. He walks like a man, but moves as if he could just as easily move on all fours.

He is the size of a mountain. Of the sky. She wonders dimly how she could ever take him, but the space between her legs aches with the desire to try.

When he reaches the circle of torches around the altar, he pauses, lifting his nose to scent the air, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

She knows not what she expected but knows she did not expect this. He’s an approximation of a man, more man than not, but wild in some way that she cannot make sense of. Hulking in size, towering over even the tallest elder, with a presence that feels larger still. Broad in shoulder and chest, a vast expanse of skin that’s covered in dark blonde hair. His cock is hanging between his legs freely, half-filled and nearly twitching in the cool air.

He takes her in with slow blinks that near on sleepy, his head tilting a little as he does. Torchlight catches and reflects on what appear to be horns, rough, spiralled things rooted solidly in the thick dark gold of his hair. His eyes, when he blinks, are glowing dimly.

He’s waiting, at the edge of the torchlight circle, and an elder prompts her in a low, tight voice. Reminding her.

She swallows heavily, and says, “ _Thörr._ ”

It’s a name she has practiced on her tongue for the last year, since she was selected for this role, but it still tumbles haltingly from her lips, her voice catching in her throat as the utterance of his name causes his gaze to lift and meet hers.

He steps into the circle, and the elders immediately resume their prayers, soft, chanting murmurs that echo in her ears along with the thunder of her heart.

He approaches the altar, and in the torchlight, she can see his cock. Full and hard and leaking between his legs, as he takes in the sight of her. His expression is passive, but his eyes are glowing brighter than before.

He climbs up onto the altar with the grace of a wild animal, and her head tips back on a whimpered moan. Her mind turning instantly for him, reacting somehow to the presence of his body over hers. Opening to him like a flower in the sun, aching and desperate for the feel of him already.

He is hot. Blessed, scorching heat is radiating from his core and she finds herself straining against the elder’s hands to reach for him, her body arching up off the stone altar to seek his warmth on pure, base instinct.

He kneels above her on the altar, covering her entire body with his, and when she moans, a soft, broken sound, his glowing eyes find hers.

She’s trembling as he leans down slowly and nudges his nose along her cheek, exhaling hotly against the flushed skin there as he drags his nose along the bone and into the line of her hair.

She feels more than hears a deep rumble from his chest as he noses at her temple, and the sudden, wet feel of his mouth tasting at her ear makes her back break on an arch against him. A hot whine falling from her lips as she tilts her head to expose her neck to him instinctually.

He smells like freshly turned earth, like the sweet tinge on a warm, spring breeze, and the heat of him is soaking through her bones. Filling her with a longing she cannot define, making her writhe against the stone altar underneath his body.

He rumbles again, a low, pleased sound, as he turns her head the other way with his nose and goes back to snuffling quietly against her hairline. Tasting hotly against this ear as well, and the soft skin below it.

Her sex is aching for him between her legs, and a fresh wave of slick wetting the pelt beneath her. He seems to smell it, raising his head and lifting his nose on the air before grunting softly moving down her body.

He pays her breasts no mind, nor her belly, backing up on the altar until he’s crouched between her legs and pressing his nose against the juncture of her hip and thigh. Breathing hotly through parted lips as he drags his wet mouth against the edge of the dark mess of curls there, making a quiet sound like he’s in pain.

Her body seizes at the wet drag of his lips, her knees drawing up and clamping together on a startled gasp, only to be wrenched open by the hands of elders on either side and held apart.

He settles in there, in the space between her legs, breathing loudly against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Opening his mouth there and testing the edge of his teeth on the meat of her muscle.

That makes her moan brokenly, a ragged exhale, and another helpless wave of slick flushes from her core.

His head turns towards it like it called to him, and he lowers his head to her sex and drinks.

She nearly comes off the altar, held down by firm hands as her back arches painfully on a shout that echoes through the empty village.

He opens his mouth against the trembling heat of her sex and feasts upon her. Running his tongue through the mess of it and sucking gently at the crest, grunting softly in pleasure as she spills over his tongue and mouth, soaking his beard as her hips rock against his face. Rolling his face against it, panting hotly though parted lips as he takes his fill.

He drinks and drinks, his mouth on her seemingly not for her pleasure but for his as he consumes her with gentle strokes of his tongue and heated caress of his lips.

The elders keep her in place with firm hands, chanting quiet prayers that echo in the cool air as it fills with the wet sounds of his mouth moving against her and with the broken, breathless whimpers that are wrenching from her lips as if pulled.

She is lost. The ground has unmoored from beneath her and she fights against the hands of the elders who are keeping her arms at her sides, needing to reach to him and pull him closer. To press his face into the quivering mess of her sex where she knows on some instinctive level that she needs him. That she’s on the precipice of something -  _something_ \- coiling up tight in her belly that feels like dying and flying.

He senses it, the warming feeling in her belly, for he growls suddenly, low and rough sounding, like he’s chasing something, and it locks up her spine with a thrill. Staring down at him between her legs with hazy eyes as he opens his mouth over the crest of her sex and laps at her with wet, insistent strokes of his tongue. Like he’s after something, something she cannot -

It rips through her like a current, a hot, blinding mess of pleasure and feeling that locks her body  _up up up_  and then she’s shouting and throwing her head back. A warning to him, not knowing what - what is happening - what she will do when -

It breaks over her in a wave, massive and swirling and powerful, and she makes a sound like a wounded animal as her spine quivers and ridges as pleasure rips from her at the firm press of his mouth.

She can’t breath for a moment, every muscle in her body rigid as she floats through a suffocating electric current, and then a gush of moisture pushes free from her in a wet, messy rush, and she collapses back onto the altar with a sob.

She loses sight and sound for a long moment, everything softened and muffled as her soul floats about somewhere above her body. She distantly feels soft hands, soothing along her arms, gentling her back against the altar, words of praise reaching her ears as the roaring in them ebbs and flows back and back, like a retreating tide.

The smell of something is blooming on the air. Something she can’t place in the murky recesses of her mind, but something that smells like new life. Of greenery and warm air and the sweet flavor of a fresh petal.

Her chest is heaving when she returns to herself, a minute or an hour later, she could not know. She is shaking like a newborn lamb as her muscles ring and twitch with echoes of it, and her breath hitches at the feeling of her sex clutching and pulsing against his open mouth.

He’s drinking her still, his entire face and jaw soaked with her, lapping gently at her with lowered eyelids, making soft, pleasured sounds as he nudges his nose low and dips his tongue into her quivering entrance.

She sobs again, and then he’s gathering himself up on his haunches. Rearing up over her and staring down at her with glowing eyes. Brighter than before. There is more color to him now as well, a healthy flush under his skin that wasn’t present when he first stepped into the light.

He settles on his knees between her parted thighs, and this time, when she reaches for him, the elders do not stop her.

He leans low and nips at her breast as he makes his way back up her body. Opening his mouth instinctively over the bud of her nipple and sucking for a hot moment, making her breath tighten up in her chest, before he seems to remember his cause and makes his way fully over her.

She moves on instinct, lost of conscious thought as she opens her legs for him and reaches for him with shaky hands. Gripping at the broad expanse of his shoulders and tipping her head back on a moan as the fever-hot head of his cock smears across the skin of her belly. Opening herself to him, desperately. Giving herself to him where she needs him. Where she’s empty and aching for him.

He leans down over her and presses his cheek to hers, smearing her wetness over her jaw as he smells behind her ear. Grunting out a hot little sound as he shifts his weight and the head of his cock nudges against the wet mess of her sex.

He lurches at that, some part of him snapping to attention, and his hips start to rut. Rocking hotly against her core, sliding his cock against the slick wet of her folds, trying to find purchase but not finding it. Pressing his face against her throat as he fucks against her, seeking where she’s aching and ready for the fill of him.

She hears murmurs distantly and then the elders are moving, taking her hips in hand and tugging her down towards him, taking her knees in hand and pulling gently. Raising her hips up from the stone altar and tilting them towards him.

His hips bunch and jerk against hers, seeking, and the new angle brings him to her, lines him to her, and at the first snag of the head of his cock against her sex, he bears down on a rough sound. Rutting hard with his hips and rooting himself deep into the core of her.

He groans against her throat and grips her hips between his hands, rolling his hips against hers and filling her up tight. Testing, feeling.

She chokes out a groan, overwhelmed and gasping. There is no pain, just the feeling of immense pressure and power. The feeling of a storm swirling as he gathers her up in his arms and lets his hips work against her in a steady, deep rut, his hips knocking hard against hers as he begins to let himself go.

Her head thumps back against the altar and she gives herself to him. Her eyelids fluttering at the rhythmic fuck of his cock, the hard  _pound pound pound_  of his flesh against hers as he opens her to him. As his body coaxes hers to receive him, to take what he is so willing to give her.

She loses time then, feeling sparks of diluted pleasure jolting through her on each hard thrust. His hands on her hips the only thing keeping her beneath him as she’s gone boneless and plaint under his weight. Panting for him and whimpering and begging, soft, whispered words, for what, she does not know. Pleading with him for something unknown, feeling something that feels like the tendrils of a fresh green vine curling gently around the center of her soul and taking root.

The elders prayers are louder now. Chanting together in unison, an urgency in their voices that was not there before, as if something is coming. As if something is about to happen.

She moves with him like a ship on the waves, clinging to him as she clings to consciousness.

She is delirious with syrupy pleasure, her head lolling against the altar, when he stills over her on a gritted sound. His hands vicing on her hips as he plants himself deep into her sex and spends.

A hush falls in the air, the prayers of the elders halted abruptly, and she feels more than sees as they step back from the altar then. Taking their hands from her and backing away, for reasons she cannot make her muddled mind comprehend.

She blinks her eyes open with some effort, feeling herself trembling beneath him as he gently ruts out the last of his pleasure into her sex.

She finds him staring down at her, and her heart kickstarts behind her ribs. His eyes are a brilliant light, a blue tinge to the glow as he blinks own at her, his chest heaving in time with hers. So wildly beautiful and inhuman that her breath thickens up in her lungs with a sudden clarity at how near she is to him. At the throbbing fill of his cock that’s still spending deep into her cunt in hot spurts.

Any fear she feels dissipates as he grunts softly, sounding almost tired. Satiated. Warm and pleased as he bends down to rub his cheek against hers.

Her hands are still clutching his shoulders and when she let them fall down to the altar, she startles at the feeling of thick, spongy moss beneath her hands instead of the coarse fur of the pelt.

When he pulls back again, she sees color in his cheeks. A flush of life and fresh blood beneath the skin, and the smell that rushes in as he lifts away from her is intoxicating. The air is thick with the smell of fresh life. Of pollen and bird song and tree buds. She reaches blindly up to her hair, feeling, and when she draws out one of the dried flowers that was carefully woven into a braid, she finds it exploding with color. Twice the size it was and blooming gorgeously, a vibrant, glorious yellow between her fingers.

She whispers his name, “ _Thörr,_ ” and he makes a quiet sound in response.

He’s watching her knowingly as she tries to catch her breath, a consciousness in his expression she doesn’t remember before. Something that looks like kindness in the gentle of his face, and she wonders to herself if that emotion is even known to him.

He pulls free from her and she groans softly, feeling a rush of his hot seed come along with him and spilling out onto the mossy bed she is laid out on. He draws back and keeps her her knees apart to look, to see where she’s all puffy and slick and spilling his seed, his lips dropping softly apart at the sight.

He watches her there for a moment, his cock spending one last rope of spend on an exhausted final twitch onto the mossy bed.

He gives her one last, lingering look, his expression changing on something she can’t decipher, before he is climbing down off the altar and turning to leave.

She bites down the impulse to call to him as he gets his feet under him and steps from the altar. It’s pitch black out, now, a heavy curtain of night fallen all around, and by the time he reaches the ring of torches surrounding the altar, she can see shifts in his body, around the shoulders. What looks like bones shifting under the skin, and she wonders deliriously if it’s a trick of the flickering light against the darkness.

She does whisper his name, then, and her heart lurches when he stops and looks back at her. His eyes the most visible part of him on the brink of darkness, glowing bright. He watches her for a moment, before turning and stepping past the torch line and into the inky black.

She props herself up on her elbows and squints, suddenly desperate to see him go. The faint, distant shape of a stag leaping into the heavy brush is the last thing she sees and her mind turns helplessly. Unable to process what she just saw. What she just experienced.

She’s helped down from the alter with gentle hands from the elders, who have pushed back their hoods and once again bear the faces of the people she has known her entire life. They are careful with her, guiding her the healer lodge and ushering her inside. Laying her down gently on a bed and tending to her. Lifting a cup of cool water to her lips and covering her in a heavy pelt. One pushes her sweaty hair back from her face, and she’s distantly aware of the gentle words of praise they’re all murmuring.  

In the coming days, no one will speak to her of what transpired. Not one will ask what happened or if she is well. The village will, though, turn to her with faced warmed with gratitude and endearment, and she will feel as though she is floating for weeks to come. They will thank her for the spring that blossoms up around them like the earth taking its first breath.

She will wonder, in the coming days, in the coming weeks, if the memory will leave her. If the memory is even true at all. If the moment was so full of enchantment that it may not have even occurred at all. If she is fabricating the finer details of it in her mind or remembering it to be something it was not.

She will wonder, as she is gathering water at the edge of the village months later, if she is imagining the faint glow of two eyes in deep past the treeline of the forest. And she’ll smile, then, knowing that she will not be able to keep herself from him, if it’s true.


End file.
